


Why do you play sad songs?

by Sinnymin



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3279974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinnymin/pseuds/Sinnymin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle French is a lounge singer with a next door neighbour who plays beautiful and sad songs. She falls in love with the playing, but is too shy to introduce herself. Her regular accompanying pianist takes a break, and her boss gets the famous composer Rum Gold to accompany her for two weeks. </p><p>What could those two statements have in common?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh no I wrote a new fic

As always, at 7pm, the music began. It started slowly, like it always did, with scales and delicate notes to stretch, and then the songs started. Belle sat on her bed, with her back to the wall and with a cup of tea in one hand, and a book in the other, draped in a patchwork blanket. She closed her eyes and listened. She was taken away hand in hand with her imagination and the beautiful song. She lay her book down on her lap, and clasped her hand to her chest. She never thought it would be possible to feel so strongly for a song until she heard these ones. She felt like she was in love with the music that floated through her bedroom wall. 

Her borrowed apartment was incredibly luxurious, and she loved everything about it as soon as she moved in. Everything except for the abnormally thin walls. That first day, she had heard everything, and was so exasperated by it all that she had considered telling Ruby that she would find another place to stay. But then she had heard the music. And it had convinced her to stay. The music floated from the connecting building and not hers, and she had never seen the player, but she felt very enamoured by whoever it was.

She sat down every night at ten to 7 with her tea, and her back against the wall that connected her to the mysterious piano player. And she swooned. The music floating from that room to hers made her feel strange feelings. The gorgeous melodies held meaning and feeling and substance. But they were always so, so sad. She often wondered why. Was the person a tortured artist? Was it some superficial wound? No. She knew from the way the music was that whatever pain the player was playing was very real, and very heart breaking. It flowed through the notes and the keys, and she felt it. It made her heart break to hear it. She wanted to go over, though. To introduce herself, but what would she say? “I’m in love with your music, can we go for coffee?” It would be insane. She would look insane! Maybe the person playing was a 70 year old woman, or a lecher, or a murderer with an artistic mind? It could be anyone. Her feelings were insane. This crush was insane. So she sat with her tea every night and listened until the practice was over.

Then she got ready and went to work. She was a lounge singer at a fancy hotel. She had to sit on a piano in a glittery dress, look glamourous and sing jazz songs. It was a bit embarrassing when she first started, but she enjoyed it. She had always wanted to go professional, but the music business was hard to get into, and she needed a job. When she came from Australia four months ago, she didn’t have very many skills other than her singing. She had gotten lucky when she had heard about the job, and after a short interview process, had landed the gig. It was a good job, and it was getting her name out there, which she liked. She hoped that she culd do something with the opportunity, though.  
Checking her watch, she knew it was time to go. Her performance started at 9, and if she wanted to get there early enough to get dressed and put her make up on, she would have to leave now. She picked up her garment bag and makeup bag, stuffing the latter into a cream designer handbag that had seen better days. She took one last look at the wall, smiled sadly, and left.

Maybe one day she would see whoever was behind the wall.  
~~~  
She hated public transport, but her car was in the shop and it was all that would get her into Boston. She held the garment bag like a shield the entire time, and clutched her bag out of fear of it being stolen. The reaction wasn’t random. She had been mugged on public transport back in Sydney, and she had disliked busses and trains ever since. But she had no choice tonight. So when she finally got to the hotel, she was crabby. 

There was a little room behind the bar that had been transformed from unused storage spare into a little dressing room of sorts. She had installed a mirror, a little chest of drawers, and Jefferson the bartender had dragged in a red velvet armchair from the front for her. She hung the garment bag up from a pipe, struggling to reach it even in her heels. She had dressed swiftly, squeezing herself into the shining fishtailed dress even with her slim figure. The damned thing was so tight, but she was glad of it. It meant it held itself up. It was strapless, and in a beautiful champagne colour with shining faux gems glittering down it. It made her feel like a movie star.

She was putting on a shimmering gold eyeshadow when Jefferson walked in, carrying her customary pre show dark rum and coke.

“Oh, you’re a lifesaver.” She told him, taking it from him and having a long sip from the straw. She had already put her lipstick on, and he knew she was careful when it came to her makeup. She was only a little vain. It was mostly that she liked the feeling of wearing makeup rather than anything else.

“Bad trip up?” He asked.

“My car’s still in the shop.”

“Ah, the dreaded public transport. Don’t go guzzling that down too fast, though. Rumour has it we have a guest piano player starting tonight.” He told her with a wink.

“Oh, really? Wait. Guzzle? The cheek of you sometimes, Jefferson. I am a lady. Ladies do not guzzle.” She said, with mock outrage.

“Depends on what kind of lady you are, sweet. And I’ve seen you after hours. You might be a dainty little thing but you can knock them back better than a lot of the people I serve. And that’s saying something.”

“Well thanks, I suppose. I can add that to the list of my personal triumphs.” She smiled. “So tell me about these rumours. What happened to Tony?”

“He’s taking a break for a while. He’s not been doing too well recently but he hasn’t said anything. He went into the boss’ office late last week and asked for some time off. Boss saw an opportunity, and got a favour from some musician friend of his for two weeks. He’s been really tight lipped on who, so I have no more intel for you. Sorry.” He shrugged.

“Interesting.” Belle said, sipping on her drink and finishing up with her makeup. “Do you have the time?”

Jefferson raised an arm and looked at his watch.

“Five minutes. You had better get down there. I’ll see you after. I’ll have your rum waiting.”

“Thank you, my magical alcohol friend.” Belle said, grinning. Jefferson shook his head, and walked out.

A guest piano player. She hoped it would all work out alright. She had been in the job for four months, and had a really good relationship with her regular piano player, Tony. It was the rapport they had that helped with the music. She only hoped she could form one with a guest for only two weeks. But at least if they couldn’t it would be over quickly.  
~~~  
Belle stood in behind the curtains of the little staged area in the bar until her boss, Daniel Wainwright, came to introduce her like he did every performance. She worked three nights a week, and he would always lead her out from here on his arm. He was nice. She liked him. He was always a perfect gentleman, and very ambitious. That explained why he was getting this favour. And looking out, the room was full of people. She felt little butterflies flutter in her stomach.

Daniel came over with someone behind him. 

“And here she is.” She heard him saying. “I would like to introduce you to our lounge singer. This is Belle French. Belle, this is our guest piano player. Rum Gold.”  
Rum stepped out from the side, and Belle suddenly felt dazzled.

“My goodness. The film composer? I never could have dreamed to meet you.” She said. He smiled at her, and she felt a bit gooey suddenly. She had remembered seeing him in a magazing and feeling similarly, to the amusement of her friends. He was older, but his mouth had a certain crook, and little laughter lines that were very appealing. His hair was long, and salt and pepper, and he wore a waistcoat with a little golden chain coming from one of the pockets. He was slim but not wirey, and his eyes sparkled with mirth. She liked him.

“The pleasure is all mine. I wish we would have been able to practice together, But Daniel wanted this to be all very hush hush.” She had seen him in an interview, and knew his accent would be Scottish, but it flowed and rumbled through the air like honey down a vibrating guitar string. She was charmed, she noted, as he took her hand and kissed it gently.

“Do you have my set list?” She asked.

“Yes, but I have been requested to play a few of my own instrumental pieces as well. We can work out a good compromise together for the next performances. I am sure we will work beautifully together. Shall we?” He asked, and offered his arm. She gladly took it, and with Daniel in front, they walked out together to a wild applause when people took note of him. He was a very popular and well-loved composer, scoring movies and countless TV shows. His music was beautiful, and Belle felt excited an also very nervous about the thought of performing with him.

“So, as you can see, we have a guest tonight.” Daniel introduced. “So, I hope you will all enjoy the performance tonight of Rum Gold and our own wonderful belle French!” He finished. Applause rung out again, and Rum sat at the piano while she took her microphone.

 

All the faces in the crowd  
All the singing long and loud  
Celebrations on the midnight clear  
Set the world alight

All the fire in the sky  
I can see it in your eyes  
And I could love you for a thousand years  
The way you are tonight

The way you hold me  
The way you sing along  
Find a way to make me feel so good  
Whenever else is wrong

There are times I get to see  
All the things you mean to me  
I could love you for a thousand years  
The way you are tonight

See all the tired faces  
Going on their way  
And in the east there's just the palest line  
That shows the coming of the day

As it breaks across the sky  
I can see it in your eyes  
I could love you for a thousand years  
The way you are tonight

As it breaks across the sky  
In the closing of your eyes  
I could love you for a thousand years  
The way you are tonight

Rum played wonderfully with her, catching the beautiful melody of the Missy Higgins song perfectly. She was very pleased with this, and the crowd were as well if you went by applause. They played another couple of songs afterwards, with Belle sitting on the piano for the last, and hopping off afterward. She usually did three songs and took a short break, but it appeared that Rum would be staying on as Tony did.

She walked away to get a drink backstage, and Daniel rounded the corner, saw her and beamed.

“Wonderful, sweetheart, absolutely wonderful. I knew it would be a good match. We like Tony, but it’s good to have a bit of a break, no?” He handed her a water bottle, and she smiled in appreciation, focusing out on Rum while Daniel walked away.

The music sounded…familiar. She couldn’t place it for a second, before her mouth formed a little O. It was the sad song from next door.

Either someone was playing his songs or she had found her mystery pianist.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle gets flustered /end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun with this chapter. I really enjoy writing Belle all flustered and stuff. but she won't be like this all the time. I love seeing Belle as a badass, so one she gets over the initial flustery phase, she'll be fine. Worry not! And we'll get some more character for Gold soon as well. :D

The show had been a massive success, with many of the guests coming over to Belle afterwards and complimenting her, and a few asking if she had any work available. She gave a few people her card, which had her soundcloud account details on it, but regretfully informed them that she had no physical copies. She occasionally glanced over to the other side of the bar, where Rum was charming his fans. He caught her eye nearly every time, and she could help the tiny frisson she felt in her stomach every time. Stupid.

She retreated back to her little room to get dressed in her normal clothes: a sky blue skirt that fell to her knees, and a white blouse. It was an unusually hot March, and even the evenings had a heat to them. Not that she minded, as she always welcomed the warm weather. The bar had shut, and Jefferson was wiping down the table when she sat in front of him. He smiled at her.

“Pretty crazy night, huh?” He said, getting her rum and coke from where he had saved it behind the bar. She took a long drink and sighed.

“You’re telling me! In between having to take public transport and playing with a famous composer, I’m beat!”

“And why would performing with a famous composer make you tired, Ms French?” She heard a low drawl say behind her.

She turned her head to see Rum, who of all things was smirking. She blushed.

“Well, I mean…I guess I…um.” She tried to speak, but words didn’t form in her brain.

“It’s alright.” He replied with a laugh, taking a seat next to her and ordering a tonic water from Jefferson. “I hope you weren’t intimidated, though. Occasionally I hear that my fame intimidates people I otherwise love working with, although I don’t really see myself as that famous.”

“That famous? Are you kidding me? You won an Oscar! You’ve composed for theatre, TV, radio…you’ve done everything. I’m just a lounge singer and suddenly I’m being backed by someone who writes the most fantastic music…and yes. I suppose it is a little intimidating.”

“Well, I can see why. But you’re not just a lounge singer. You have a beautiful voice.”

She felt that blush creep to her cheeks again, and she smiled.

“Well, that means a lot. And anyway, just because I’m intimidated, it doesn’t mean I’m afraid of you. I just don’t want to mess up and have you sound bad because I bring you down.”

“I’m very glad, Ms French. It would be a pain for you to be afraid of me when we’re working together. And don’t worry about bringing me down. I am here to accompany you, not the other way around.”

“And to bring in the crowds, remember.”

“That too.” He agreed.

“I tried to talk to Tony about this, but he didn’t listen. I say that a pianist accompanies me a lot, but the truth is, we need to accompany each other. You need to bring me up, and I need to do that for my pianist, too.”

He took a good long look at her, and she felt slightly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She shifted in her chair slightly, which must have made him realise he was staring, so he smiled and took a drink.

“You’re very right. Now, what’s this I hear about you taking public transport? Do you not like it?”

“Oh no. Hate it. I’m not snobby, I swear. I got mugged once a little while ago and ever since, I’ve been a bit uncomfortable.”

“Well, it’s no bother for me to drop you off. Just while you get yourself sorted. I take it you have a car that isn’t running properly?”

Belle bit her lip. If she allowed him to take her home, then he’d know she was his neighbour, separated by a wall. Would he stop playing? Why was the thought of that so saddening? And besides, Ruby was not supposed to be subletting the apartment. She could be kicked out for that. Belle didn’t think Rum would rat her out, but all of the reasoning seemed to empty from her head, and so she smiled and said.

“I think I’ll be alright.”

Rum raised an eyebrow at her, and she realised that she may have come off as a little bit ungrateful.

“I-I’m very thankful for the offer, Mr Gold. I just…don’t want to get in your way or impose in any way.”

He shrugged his shoulders and rose, his tonic water and their conversation finished.

“Very well, Miss French. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said, with a nod, and walked away.

As soon as he was out of sight, she slumped face forward onto the bar and hit her head against it.

“I’m so stupid.” She said.

“Blew it, huh?” Jefferson asked. She looked up through the curtain of her hair and glared at him. 

“There wasn’t anything to blow.” She replied.

“Well, sure, there isn’t now.” He laughed.

“You’re disgusting.”  
~~~  
She hated public transport. Hated it, hated it, hated it. As soon as she had gotten through the door, she had stripped of all her clothes and ran a bath that was a little too hot to relax herself. She ordered far too much sushi from her favourite place, and the delivery was due in an hour. Sinking into the bubble filled tub, she pondered over her mistakes.  
She tried to forget, but the stupid way she had reacted to finding out the identity of her mysterious neighbour was really embarrassing. She hoped he didn’t think she was rude or weird. But then again, what would it matter anyway? What would she do with this information, anyway? She was too shy to ask him out, and besides, what else did she know about him other than the beautiful music he played. They could be totally incompatible. But even with this knowledge, the attraction she felt for him fizzed inside her like a chemical reaction. She lay back and thought of his gorgeous eyes. The way he had smiled, and the way his long fingers looked while he played. The sudden rush of arousal was alarming, and she sank her head under the water to try and wash the thoughts away from her brain.

When the surfaced, she tried to banish all thoughts of him from her head, instead opting to sing instead. She relaxed in the tub at last, singing loudly as she washed her hair. By the time she was out, she was thoroughly unwound and still singing, using a hairbrush as a microphone as she sat on her bed in her slinky little pale pink robe and dried her hair. She sung, beautifully at times, and full of laughter at the next, dancing around her bedroom as she rolled her hair up into pins on her head to get the curls she loved so much. The delivery guy wouldn’t care too much: she was sure he saw people like this all the time.

Speaking of which, she heard the doorbell now. She couldn’t wait for a night of singing and sushi and Netflix. She smiled and crossed the hall to the doorway, opening it with her wallet in hand ready to pay the sushi guy. 

It wasn’t the sushi guy.

It was Rum.

She was in a robe.

With her hair in pins.

And looking like an idiot.

She nearly slammed the door shut again in shock, but the sushi guy took that moment to arrive, and she couldn’t leave him out in the hallway, could she? Mortified, she watched as Gold took the brief few seconds of her brain jumping out of her head with shock to pay the guy before she could fumble with her wallet.  
It was just them, then. He held the bag out to her, and she took it.

“So, I knew my neighbour had a lovely voice, and yours sounded familiar, but stupidly I didn’t put two and two together until I heard you tonight.” He said, his grin looking almost wolfish. He leaned against the doorframe and looked at her frozen figure.

“Just thought I’d pop over and say hello.”

She wasn’t saying anything. Why wasn’t she saying anything???

“Um…would you like to, uh, to come in for a bit, then?” She stammered.

“I would like that very much. But I might advise you to put on something a bit more suited for visitors.”

She realised again that she was in her robe.

She stepped out of the doorway to let him in, and scuttled down the hall to her room.

Holy shit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musical crushes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a lot of speech.

Belle had rushed quickly into her bedroom to get dressed, but she flittered around the room on the balls of her feet for a few seconds before she settled on what to do next. She needed clothes, clothes. And quickly. She couldn’t be in here for too long or he would think she was weird.

“Casual, Belle, casual.” She murmured to herself, throwing open her wardrobe and looking through her things to try and find something suitable. She held up a pair of sweatpants and grimaced. “Too casual.”

She eventually settled on a pair of black leggings and a long white vest shirt, and dabbed the smallest amount of perfume behind her ears. She was rushing out the door when she realised she had forgotten to take the pins out of her hair. She pulled them out sharpish and threw them to their fate where she would hopefully find them later.

She padded down the hall and into the living room/kitchen hybrid to find Rum sat on the two seater sofa. Why would he sit there? There was a larger couch there too, but he had to pick there. She had to either sit next to him, or make it obvious she didn’t want to and sit on the other sofa. She smiled sheepishly at him when he looked over, and his answering smile was sloppy and almost boyish. She felt her heart patter in her chest.

When had she ever crushed this hard on someone she barely knew?

“I uh, have some shiraz, if you would like it?” she offered, going over to the kitchen to busy herself.

“That would be lovely, thank you.” He replied.

The silence that fell then was neither awkward nor pleasant, but a strange combination of the two, mixing together in an unsettling combination. She got the bottle from the fridge and uncorked it with a practiced ease, pouring two glasses and bringing them over. She gave him his, and set hers on the glass table et to the bag of sushi, then went to the kitchen again, coming back with two plates and two sets of red wooden chopsticks.

“Two?” He asked. She shrugged.

“You paid for it. And I ordered way too much anyway. You may as well join me while I eat.” She explained.

She served up a mixture of sushi on both plates, and they began to eat.

It was the most awkward dinner she had ever had. Neither of them said anything. Belle was far too nervous to, but she had no idea why he didn’t just say something. Anything. She felt the longer that he didn’t any anything, the more her lips were sealed. He had come over to her apartment, hadn’t he? And to say hello or whatever he had wanted to do. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Her mind was rushing at a million miles an hour with possibilities of why he remained silent, and the explanations she dreamt up ranged from everything between “struck by her beauty” and “weird smell”.

Finally, she just couldn’t take it anymore.

“So did you enjoy your little show through the wall?” she asked.

He almost looked surprised, and she couldn’t blame him. With the crush she had formed on him clouding her brain, she had managed to come off as a bit…well, she hoped not dim, but definitely flustered.

“Well, I must say it was a surprise.” He replied. “I certainly didn’t expect to hear Shania Twain echoing through a wall at eleven o clock at night.”

She made a sound that was halfway between a groan and a laugh and covered her eyes with her hands. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t wake you, did I?” She asked.

“Ms French, I might be considerably older than you, but I don’t go to bed quite that early on a Friday night.”

“So you weren’t too disturbed?”

“I didn’t say that, did I?”

She laughed and reclined back into the cream sofa with her glass of wine. He stayed on the edge of the seat, but he looked comfortable there o she didn’t worry about it. He wore a lazy smile and drank from his own glass slowly.

“Why didn’t you take me up on my offer tonight, Ms French?” he asked, snapping her out of her languid study of his face.

She tried to think of another excuse, but she couldn’t.

“I didn’t want you to know we were neighbours.” She told him.

“I’m not a creepy old man, you know, Ms French.”

She laughed until she realised he was serious.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re not, it’s just…”

“Didn’t want to get into a car with a stranger?” he asked.

“No not that, it’s just-"

“Just what?” 

“I’d tell you if you wouldn’t interrupt.” She chastised, glaring at him slightly. 

She wouldn’t admit it, but she loved verbal sparring like this.

“Ruby is letting me sublet for a while until I get on my feet. She isn’t supposed to, and she could get into a lot of trouble for it.” She explained.

“And you thought I would rat you out?” He asked, lifting his hand to his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me, Ms French. Truly.”

“I don’t know you, Mr Gold. How could I know that you wouldn’t?”

She drank her wine, watching as he nodded solemnly in agreement and drank from his own glass. Internally, she thanked god that she didn’t have to confess about the music.

“You should probably call me Belle if we’re going to be working together, you know.” She told him.

“And you should call me Rum.”

Her favourite drink, and now her favourite name. Liquor on her lips.

“Why did you come here, Rum?” she asked.

He looked at her, and she felt scrutinised suddenly. Appraised like a gem under a jeweller’s eyes, or like a particularly interesting slide under a microscope in a lab.

“I wanted to see why you were here.”

Belle stood and crossed the room to bring the bottle of wine over to where they were sitting. She refilled their glasses and he thanked her. She slid back into her seat, crossed her legs and tried her best to look like some sort of relaxed movie starlet. Like the black and white sex kitten in the fishtail dress she saw on the posters of herself for her show. She tried to harden her nerves from the shaking jellyfish strings that were about to fall apart into pure diamond, hard and composed.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because…well.” He stopped. Suddenly he looked sheepish. Was it possible that he could get nervous too? It seemed impossible. “I must say, it wasn’t the first time I heard you, and I had begun to become a bit taken with your voice. When I put two and two together, I had to see the proof for myself.”

“Taken by my voice?” She echoed. 

“Yes, a bit embarrassingly so. I always listened for it, but it would come at such random times. Jesus, I don’t even know why I’m saying this out loud.” He groaned, rubbing a hand down the five o clock bristle that had formed on his jaw, resting his elbows on his knees on the edge of his seat.

Her heart stopped. Had he been as captivated as her? She drank more. The second glass was empty, her nerves hardened, her courage shakenly propped up like a doomed gymnastic routine and she didn’t care, so she blurted out her words.

“You practice at seven every day.” She told him. He looked up at her, and reflected her gaze with his own. “And I listen every day. And I have done ever since I moved in, and it’s been two months and I’m a bit in love with your music. So when you offered to drive me home it wasn’t just the fear that you’d rat out Ruby, but the fear you’d know I was listening behind the wall and you’d stop. And I don’t think something so small and silly has ever scared me more in my life.”

Suddenly, with it all out in the open, she realised what she had said and how stalkerish it sounded. Her heart contracted when he sat up, and she felt all the blood rush out of her face just to keep it beating. 

“I-I’m sorry if that’s weird.” She stammered.

“Why would it be weird if I’ve been doing and feeling the same?” 

He smiled at her, and she broke out into a huge one herself.

There was this very attractive, very talented man telling her it was alright to be enamoured by the music he played because he was enamoured with how she sang.

“I should go now, but I am very much looking forward to working with you. Maybe when these two weeks are up we can organise something.” He suggested, standing up.

“Playing together through the wall?” She teased, standing up and joining him.

“I was thinking in a recording studio.” He replied, his face straight. Her eyes widened.

“That would be…I mean, if you think I’m good enough. Not that I’m questioning your judgement at all but-”

He reached up and put a finger to her lips, smirking slightly in that wolfish way he had when she had opened the door.

“Relax. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, right.” She said.

She walked him out, and tried to calm herself down.

It was just music. She just loved his music, and he would only want her for her vocal chords. Nothing else, no other motivations or excuses. No dreams or secret wanting, no inappropriate thoughts or lingering looks. It wouldn’t come to that. It wouldn’t.

She threw back another half a glass of wine and cleaned up, then went to her bedroom and got changed into her nightgown again. She lay down in bed and tried to sleep. She was just drifting off when she heard a tinkling melody through the wall. 

He was playing for her, and it wasn't sad. It was beautiful and soothing, and she knew that the reason it was those things was because he knew she was listening. 

She drifted to sleep with a smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold's POV (Idk why don't ask, felt like it)  
> Gold has eggs with Belle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chaptaaaah. Yes, its Gold's POV because I felt like it. The POV might be inconsistant in this fic, I am not going to lie. I am just wingin it.   
> But also thank you all so much for the support! All the kudos and comments and views! Eeee! It makes me so happy!

Belle was stood on Rum’s doorstep, a nervous smile on her face and offering a bag filled with breakfast. He raised an eyebrow at her quizzically.

“I, uh, thought you might like this. It’s Eggs Benedict from a place called Lorenzo’s. It’s the best I’ve ever had-trust me.” She explained.

He took the bag from her with a lopsided smile.

“Alright, and why did you go out at,” he raised his wrist to look at a gold wristwatch. “9.30 to get this?”

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t wake you did I?” She asked, suddenly looking mortified. He barked a laugh at her expression alone. She looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, but there was a look of embarrassment added in. It all wound up mixed together in a wonderful cocktail of emotions playing out on her expression, and it was delightful.

“I told you last night, I might be old, but I can still hold my own. I’m a late to bed, early to rise sort, actually. Sleep has never been too useful. I can be doing other things.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” She said. “And you’re not that old. Not really.”

“Darling, next to you, I look like an antique.”

“Well then call yourself…classic.”

He laughed again, and she smiled up at him, a little pink at the cheeks.

“Come in then.” He said, ushering her in through the door. She stepped in uncertainly, like a doe through exposed grassland. There was something very animal like about her, he noted. Although she was all fluffy bunnies and wide eyes deer, and he was wolf through and through. Wolves ate little creatures like her for breakfast. But he was a gentleman before he was a wolf, and he appeared to have his breakfast provided for him, so she would survive.

He led her through to the kitchen-an art deco thing that he hated. It was all metal and glass and nothing worked like it should. Every button was hidden or invisible, and it pissed him off. Belle found her way to the kitchen island and sat down on one of the high stools, crossing her legs gracefully. He held up the pot of coffee still steaming in the coffee maker, and when she nodded, he filled two mugs. She added the cream and sugar that he put on the table, while he drank his black. He busied himself getting plates and forks, stealing glances at her every not and again that she didn’t notice. She was looking around the place in a way that others may consider nosy, but he found rather endearing.

 “I suppose this is payment for me paying for your dinner last night. You look like a modern woman, after all. I only thank the heavens that I am not greeting you ready for bed. I fear it would make you faint.”

“Why, do you have some sort of new age face cream that makes you look like a monster?”

“No, because I sleep in the nude.”

She choked on her coffee, and he tried to hold back a laugh as he got her a napkin and pushed her half of the breakfast in front of her.

“You’re joking. It’s a horrible joke and you’re joking.” She said, once she had recovered He shrugged.

“Whatever you want to believe, dearie.” He replied. “So, there must be some reason for you to be bringing breakfast to me. I have a feeling paying me back isn’t the only reason.”

And she sure as hell wasn’t doing it to spend time with him. She must want something.

“Well, actually, yes. I really need to ask a favour, and I really hate asking for a favour without anything to offer.”

“Well, if your offering was breakfast then we’re still not even for the sushi for dinner last night.” He said, taking a forkful of eggs. When he looked up, she was scowling down at hi, and he felt chastised all of a sudden. He dabbed at his lips with a napkin and bashfully looked away.

“I never asked you to pay.” She said, her tone tense.

“No, you did not. My apologies.”

He was such an arsehole.

She gave him a curt look, and ate a bit. The silence was absolutely, definitely awkward. He couldn’t allow that. Not if they were going to have a good working environment, or be good neighbours or anything else.

“Belle, look-”

“It’s okay. Apology accepted. Now about that favour I’m asking you.”

He blinked up at her. She had changed the subject in lightning quick time, intercepting his apology and cutting him off mid sentence. Nobody cut him off mid sentence. She seemed to switch from stammering blushing, wide eyed doe to something more…wolfish. There was wolf in her somewhere, locked down beneath all of the fluffiness. He realised with a smile that he respected her. He liked her before, but now…now he respected her. And respect was hard to earn in his eyes, with all of the arse kissing he had to deal with.

“Alright, not a favour. A deal. I don’t do favours. Not often, anyway.” He said.

“Fine.” She huffed. “You offered me a ride last night. I was wondering if maybe I could, uh…well, if I could possibly car pool with you to the hotel? I really do not want to take public transport, taxis are expensive and you did already offer. Although I’m not sure if it had an expiry date.”

“Alright. Done.”

“You will?” She asked, positively beaming.

“Of course.” He replied.

“But I need something to offer in return. Like you said, it needs to be a deal.”

“That’s usually what happens in a deal. Sorry, dearie. I don’t really hand out free favours. If word got about…well, I dread to think of that. I’d be composing for toothpaste commercials and horrible animated films by the end of next week.”

“Wasn’t your work at the hotel a favour?” She asked. He winked at her.

“I take a favour, I give one back. I owed Daniel.”

“Well, then…I’ll owe you, I guess. I can’t think of anything at the top of my head to offer you.”

He could, but nothing that was repeatable.

They finished off their breakfast, their conversation flowing and amusing. She didn’t bolt off the second that she got what she wanted, which surprised him. He cleared away the plates into the dishwasher, and they naturally migrated through to his living room with fresh coffee, without a word of confirmation. It just happened. The room was more him. The sofas were black leather, and a thick white carpet lay on the floor. An antique wooden coffee table was in front of the sofa, bare save for a few assorted scraps of paper with quick, sharp music notations on it. A vintage jukebox sat in the corner, and a large plasma screen was on his wall. Best of all, here was where his piano was.

It was sat in the corner, black and glossy and shiny and gorgeous. It even had a name. Harriet. Harriet the piano, named for the woman he bought it from. They sank into the sofa together, and she looked to her right to the piano and then the wall with a slight blush on her face.

“This is where you play?”

“Well I hardly drag my piano through my apartment, dearie.” He teased. “Wouldn’t be good for my back.”

She gave him a withering look, but her lips were twitching.

“So my bedroom is through that wall.”

“Must be.” He said, shifting in his seat and trying not to think about that particular vision. Especially not in the nightgown or the robe from last night.

She was attractive, he told himself. Attractive with a beautiful voice. Which was why he was feeling like this all of a sudden. His dried up love life was possibly another reason for why he felt like a schoolboy with a crush after meeting the siren from across the wall.

“So tell me about yourself, then.” He prompted.

“How? Like an interview, or like a friendly conversation?” She teased him.

He rolled his eyes.

“A conversation of course. But maybe first you could tell me where Ms Lucas has gone to that leaves her apartment free all of a sudden.”

“Were you two friends?” Belle asked.

“Not in those words, but once a month one of us would bring liquor to the other and we’d get smashed and talk about the people we hate.” He told her, which made her laugh.

“Well, she’s actually in San Francisco shooting a movie at the moment. She got one of the large roles. She is very excited about it.”

“I bet she is, she might get to move somewhere with better sound insulation. One can only hope, anyway. She had a few, uh, trysts during the last world cup. My guests nearly applauded.”

“Oh god, really?” Belle asked, a hand over her mouth.

“Yes, and I think she knew, too. Actresses.” He shook his head.

“Well, no need to worry about that with me.” Belle said. He laughed and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry, it’s just that I really don’t understand that.”

“And why is that?”

He leaned back and groaned. How did he tell her without sounding like a creep? That he’d expect her to have someone? Be with someone? That there was no doubt in his mind that the siren could tempt and win and steal and love whomever she wanted. That he’d got that thought in his mind after twelve hours of seeing her face and talking to her for the first time?

“You’re pretty.” He settled on. “And pretty girls have boyfriends.”

Girl. Girl girl girl girl. She was a girl, and he was a man decades her senior and if she wasn’t so close on his couch, with her perfume invading his senses then maybe he could think that for real. But she was sat next to him and she was a woman. But even still, he was shocked with how badly he wanted her. The dark pink of her lips, the shine in her eyes, that tiny waist and sculpted legs…he had to stop. He rose and made a show of putting away his scribbles at his piano, making a sound like he had only just realised they were there in front of him. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice now terribly fake it was. Or maybe she was a better faker than he was.

There was a look in her eyes, and he realised that she hadn’t spoken. She looked…sad. More than that, because sad was such a simple word. She had the look on someone who had given up on sad, but the feeling was still there.

“Belle? I didn’t say anything to offend, I hope.”

“No.” She said, looking up. Then her expression was unreadable and she rose, putting down her coffee cup.

“Belle, truly I am sorry if I said anything wrong. I’m an idiot anyway, you shouldn’t listen to me.”

“No, really. I’m just being too sensitive, that’s all.” She replied quietly.

He didn’t know what to say. She looked up at him and took a deep breath.

“I don’t want to worry about the stress of boyfriends or anything like that. It’s too soon after my divorce.”

His brain felt like it needed to restart, and he didn't say anything with the shock of it. She looked so _young._ She held up her hands and squeezed her eyes shut in a gesture that looked like she was trying to push back on whatever feeling had manifested in her all of a sudden.

"It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have said anything We haven't known each other for that long, and I don't want to dump this on you. I'm sorry, I should go, this was stupid."

"Belle-"

"I just get so carried away sometimes when I'm talking, and you're really lovely and I needed to explain why I got all sad and stuff after you said pretty girls have boyfriends, because who would want a twenty six year old divorcee with a pipe dream as her only source of income?"

"Belle!" He snapped. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "You can talk to me anytime." he said, gently. 

"Really?"

"I divorced from my wife 15 years ago. If you need any advice or anything, if you need to get him out of your hair at all-"

"That's not an issue. He divorced me. He's married again already." She said, bitterness dripping from her tone.

"How long ago was it finalised?" He asked.

"Two months ago."

"So just before you moved here?" He asked.

"Couldn't leave the country until it was finalised. We've been separated for six months. I think he was together with her before then, but I have no proof. I didn't want anything from him anyway, so I just left. That's why I'm here." She looked up at him sheepishly. "You wanted to know more about me, didn't you?"

"I was more thinking favourite foods and books, maybe your birthday and a couple of musical influences."

"Meatballs, Jane Eyre, December 3rd, Sara Bareilles and Frank Sinatra."

He blinked up at her, and she smiled, still looking embarrassed. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and he followed the path the fingers made.

"I think I might have to take you up on the talking sometime. Not having Ruby around is hard, and Jefferson wouldn't really know what to say."

"I cant promise I will, really. But you're welcome to try me." He replied.

"Thanks. And I really do mean it. I have a feeling we'll be good friends." She smiled.

"Yes, of course." He said, walking her to his door.

Friends.

He drove his _f_ _riend_ to the hotel that night, watched her sing in her gorgeous shining uniform, drove her home, and drank until he didn't think of her legs anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SEX!

He was distracted that night. He missed notes he shouldn’t, and his face was contorted in a way that made her feel uneasy. He was saddened, more so than usual, and she didn’t know why. They were getting closer, and talked often, although Belle held a lot of herself back from him with a lot of guilt. She began to like him not just for his music, but for him. His quip, his mischievous ways, the way he looked at her and made her feel, the conversation that flowed like water. Everything. She liked him. They only had two shows left, and Belle felt like her time with him was slipping away, even though they lived so close together. Would he still want to spend time with her when they weren’t working together? And why wouldn’t he tell her why he was so sad? Maybe he didn’t feel as close to her as she did to him.

Her crush still pulled at her heart, making her feel elated when she was with him, and miss him when he was gone. They ate together every night without any vocal agreement. It just happened. When she was in her room, he played soothing songs because he knew she was there. But in the times he played when he didn’t know she was listening, the melancholy came back, and it hurt her deep in her heart and he wanted to know where I came from. What pain had he endured to make him play such heart-breaking music?  
He was sad that night. Not just sad, but broken. It was wrong when they played together, not the way that they usually did, where they fit and flowed and melted together in his piano playing and her voice. They drove back, and he frowned so much on the drive that she worried he was mad with her. But he kissed her cheek like he usually did, and complimented her on her singing, and then he was gone. And she knew something was wrong.

He was at the piano as soon as he got back. It was the saddest tune she had ever heard from him, and she felt lie crying at the sheer emotion of it. She hugged herself and warred with the want to go over and demand he tell her what was wrong. But the war was lost, and she soon found herself pulling on her jacket and shoes and going to his building.  
When he opened the door, she nearly grabbed him to her in an embrace when she saw the sheer pain upon his face. It was tortured and manic and he hated it. She wanted him happy and joking and there with her.

“Rum, you barely looked at me tonight.” She said. 

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He said. 

The smell of whiskey invaded her nose, and she realised it was worse than what she thought. He reached and cupped her cheek, and she leant into his touch, looking up into his hazel eyes.

“Belle…I’m sorry.” He said.

She took the hand that cupped his cheek, and held it in hers.

“Come with me.” She said.

He nodded, and went to fetch his keys. They walked to her apartment in silence, and when they got in, she went to the kitchen to pour drinks. He had left a bottle of his whiskey at her place last week, and every night he had one. She realised it may be a bad idea for him to drink, but the strong spirit seemed to comfort him more than intoxicate him. When she returned, she was sat on her sofa with his head in his hands.

“Rum…” She began.

“It’s his death day.” He said.

“Death day?” she asked. She went to him, sitting next to him and pulling him up straight. His eyes were tightly shut, but she put the drink into his hands. She took a long rink from her glass of red wine, and waited for him to speak.

“My boy. Neil. It was fifteen years ago today when he died.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth.

“Rum, I’m so sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She said. He shook his head.

“No. It’s good to talk to someone. And I want to talk to you.” He said. He clasped his hand around one of hers, and knotted their fingers together.   
“He was ten. I lived downtown with him and my wife. I was working as an accountant, and I was so, so busy. He was playing out in the street and I let him go on his own because I needed to work. Milah was out, it was just me and I was so busy and he was in my hair wanting to see everything and I couldn’t get anything done. I told him to go outside and he was playing in the road and...” He tried to choke down a sob, but it came out like a whimper. She squeezed his hand. “A car hit him. The driver was young and drunk and stupid and…he died.”

“Rum…”

“I was too busy to watch him and he died. I heard car breaks and squealing tired and I ran out and he was already gone. His neck...his neck…he died instantly. I tried, I called an ambulance, I shouted for help, I tried everything I could but he was gone. Gone. And it was fifteen years ago and I worry every year that his memory will fade.”

“It won’t, Rum, it won’t” She tried to assure him.

“I don’t need your pity, your assurances!” He snapped. Her eyes widened, and when he looked up at her, he seemed ashamed. “Sorry.” he muttered.

He shut up, and so did she. They leaned into the couch, hands clasped together and against each together, holding on for dear life.

He stood, and went to her stereo, digging into the CD box on the floor.

“Rum?” 

“I just need to listen to something better. Something that will make me feel better.” He said.

He dug out a purple CD case, and fished out the CD from inside the pocket. It took her mind a second to realise what he was holding, and her eyes went out.

“Rum, you don’t want to listen to that.”

“I want to know what it is. It’s the only one that’s unmarked. It’s intriguing.”

“Rum, please, no! It’s not good!” She tried and failed He put in the CD and her voice rang out,

Saturday, empty room, filled with people  
It don't mean a thing to  
You and I, holding hands  
Nobody knows, nobody understands

He looked to her, eyebrows raised.

“You?” He asked.

She blushed and turned away, but as soon as she did he was there, cupping her cheek and turning her to him.

“It’s from a while ago.” She tried to explain. 

I don't care for sunlight  
That only means it's over  
And I'm in no mood for that

“It’s good.” He said. “Gorgeous.” 

He ran a finger along her jawbone, and she shivered. He pulled her up and to him.

“Dance with me.” He said.

The song was too slow to dance anything resembling only friendship.

Stay tonight  
Don't come morning, don't come light  
They may be lies, say it, say that we'll be alright  
If we stay tonight

One of his hands clasped hers, and the other was on her lower back, pressing her to him in a way that left her aching. They danced to her voice, and it was very surreal. They swayed in time with the music. Not a proper dance, but an imitation of one. She felt herself shaking with anticipation. This wasn’t just a dance, and she knew it suddenly. Whatever pain he felt, he needed her, and the pressure of that set on her shoulders in a way that wasn’t unwelcome. But at the same time she wanted him to want her through the pain.  
Dancing with him then, she realised from the way he was looking down at her, and the way he made her feel in his arms that this was no longer just a little crush. She loved him, for all he knew and didn’t know. For that things he said and didn’t say and everything in between. For the way he held her and she felt on fire with his touch. And the knowledge of that love sent her head towards his, and her lips meeting his.

He didn’t move for a second, but when he did, it was glorious. His lips were dry and strong and so him, and she sighed against them and leaned into his as they still swayed in time with her crooning voice over the speakers. 

My hands are shaking  
This is a complicated love with me  
Keep your eyes closed, I've seen it baby  
I've seen where this goes  
Stay tonight  
Don't come morning, don't come light  
They may be lies, but say that we'll be alright  
If we stay tonight  
Gonna feel it baby  
Oh I don't wanna cry  
I know we'll get to tomorrow and say goodbye  
That's what I'm asking for  
Tonight

He grasped her hips all of a sudden, and she went willingly where he guided. He pulled them down to the couch, with her underneath him, and pressed himself on top of her. She sighed in pleasure again, and he broke the kiss to trail little pecks and nips down her neck.

“Rum…” She moaned.

“Hush. Don’t think now.” He murmured against her neck, his voice so low and rumbly that she felt it in her skin, in the fibres of her being. She groaned, and he captured her lips again.

Something in her protested, saying that he was doing this to combat the pain, but the romantic, stupid side of her gagged her rational thought so that she could just feel, just kiss, just love the man on top of her. Grabbing, grasping, pulling, kissing, wanting, needing, arching up and pulling down and kissing and moaning and loving him. She was undone, and all of the things she felt for him went into the kiss, her arms around him and unabashedly holding him to her. She wanted him to feel everything she had for him so she could help him through the horrible things he was feeling.

His hands were suddenly everywhere, and she followed suit. His shirt came unbuttoned and pushed off his shoulders, and hers came over her head. His pants went next, and her skirt came off soon after. Her bra was discarded, and her panties were rolled down her legs and tossed somewhere out of sight and out of mind.

His hand was on her then, and she gasped at the sudden feeling. His fingers were long and adept, as she knew they would be when she saw him playing the piano. They parted her, touching and teasing her lips and leaving her gasping and groaning and begging as he left feather light touches in teasing and horrible places when she wanted him to touch her properly.

“Please!” She gasped.

He obliged without words. His fingertip stroking against her clitoris in a long sweep. She moaned low and arched her back suddenly. He hadn’t been touched like this in a long time. He knew where to touch and tease and stroke, and soon she was panting and arching and looking up at him with wanting, lustful eyes.  
This one sidedness would not do, she decided. She lurched forward and surprised him by going underneath his boxers and gripping him I her hand. He was rock hard and so long and thick, and she couldn’t help but moan at just touching him. His breath hitched as she ran her fingers down the base of him up to the top, before gripping again and stroking down, her hand tight against him. 

“Belle. My Belle…” He groaned, bucking into her hand. “Stop this now if you don’t want this.” He said, his tone low and husky and full of warning.

“I want it.” she replied.

At last my love has come along  
My lonely days are over and life is like a song

He rolled down his boxers and smiled as her voice came in the form of a new song through the speakers.

“Etta James.” He said.

“You like it?”

He leaned down and kissed her neck, pulling her up to him from her shoulderblades, with his hands underneath her. She sighed, and parted her legs, letting him settle against her and tilting is hips to feel the length of him against her core.

At last the skies above are blue  
My heart was wrapped up clover the night I looked at you

“It’s perfect.” He said, leaning down and kissing her again. She moaned, and grabbed his face, holding him to her for a long, passionate, perfect kiss. He gripped himself, and broke the kiss, looking into her eyes with such passion, such wanting, and such careful guardedness at the same time.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m safe. I’m on the pill. And I want you, Rum. I want you so badly. I’ve always wanted you.”

He looked so emotional at that moment, in a way she had never seen him before. But before she could take note of it, he shunted forward and he was in her, and it was wonderful and so, so horribly lovely that she cried out loud as soon as he was buried in her. He gasped, and gripped her hips.

“Belle…”

“Rum!”

“Oh, Belle…” He groaned. “I want to say so much, but I can’t…not now.”

He bucked his hips, and she groaned and arched her back. He leaned down and buried his head into her hair, taking a long breath of her scent before pulling out nearly all the way and rocking back in. She cried out, almost in tears from the sheer pleasure of it He felt perfect in her in a way nobody else had, reaching all of the right places, and knowing where to grab, where to kiss, where to be to make her feel like falling apart already in his arms. She tried to hold her composure, but he bucked against her again and she groaned and sobbed and threw her arms around his shoulders, her nails sinking into his back as he drove into her in a steady and fast rhythm.

He grunted with each thrust, the pleasure he felt at being inside her clear with the tone and intensity of his voice. He kissed up her neck, nipping and biting occasionally and making her moans louder and more frequent as he fucked her.

“Belle, Belle…” He moaned, hands gripping her hips.

I found a dream that I can speak to  
A dream that I could call my own  
I found a thrill to press my cheek to  
A thrill I've never known, oh yeah

“Oh sweetheart, I have wanted you ever since I saw you in that damned, damned beautiful dress.” He gasped out. “Even before. Ever since I heard your voice, your sirens call through the wall, I wanted you.” 

He was driving into her hard and fast now, and she struggled to keep herself together, but she was losing the war and she felt her climax approaching. She sobbed and cried out.

“Belle…don’t hold back.” He moaned against her neck, somehow going even harder, even deeper, and he wrapped her legs around his slim waist to keep him close. As if he would ever leave her.

No words passed between them again. He gripped her hips to hard she knew she would have tiny finger shaped bruises against her hips, and bucked into her again and again in a way that was so blissful and right that she knew that nothing would every be the same again. She didn’t know how anyone could top this, be better than this, feel this right inside her.

“Rum!” She cried out, her peak approaching.

“Oh, darling, darling, darling dear.” He groaned, sinking his teeth into her throat so hard she would need makeup to cover the mark. With that, she was lost. Her inner walls clamped down on him, and with that, he went harder and faster somehow, and he was as lost as she was. He shouted out loudly, and thrust against her the hardest he had every done, emptying himself into her.

You smiled, you smiled oh and then the spell was cast  
And here we are in Heaven  
For you are mine at last

He was on top of her still, and she was stuck to the leather of the sofa, but she didn’t care.

“Don’t let this be a one time thing, Rum. Don’t hide away from me after this.” She said.

He rose up again, looking into her eyes with something resembling awe.

“Never, sweetheart.” He said, and kissed her deeply.

The circumstances of it happening weren’t ideal, but things had changed between them and she loved it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sinny sucks at ending chapters soz.  
> Also holy smokes THANK YOU GUYS for all the support. We are over 1000 views now and so many of you hit kudos after last week's booze fuelled sex chapter. Thanks so much! And don't be strangers! Leave a comment or send me a message at  
> http://sinnysaysthings.tumblr.com/

There were no excuses. He didn’t sneak out in the middle of the night: rather, in the morning when he woke up hungover and realised that he was still on the couch pressed against Belle, he carried her into the bedroom and fell asleep there again with her. That was where she woke up, finding him still sleeping. She turned around and looked at him at her pleasure. There was a painful innocence about him in sleep, unlike the charisma he oozed day to day. There was no pretence: no joking or quipping or hiding behind his piano. He was just a man, and she was just a woman, instead of a famous and tortured composer and a lowly lounge singer. Here in this bed, they could be Rum and Belle instead of anything more. She didn’t worry about what this was, about what she was to him.

Right then, there was just them, pressed chest to chest with her gazing up at his features. She stroked a finger down his cheek, against the roughness of his slightly greying stubble, and revelled in the tingles it gave her, even after all that had happened. She had only ever dreamed about making love to him, a fact that she still would never admit out loud. He was an attractive musician, and when he looked at her, she felt fireworks shooting off in her belly: far more powerful than any frisson of butterflies ever was or would be. He had been drunk and emotional and a bit broken, but the way he held her last night was like no man ever had. He hadn’t held her like she was glass and paper. He had gripped and grabbed and bit in delicious places and she had revelled in it. It felt so nice to be treated like a woman instead of a dainty flower.  

He woke up soon afterwards, his eyes fluttering before falling on her. She smiled lazily at him, trailing a finger down his jawline again. He had delicately brushed her hair back over her shoulder, and brought her head close to his for a passionate kiss.

There wasn’t really a discussion at all really: they were just something else now, and that’s how it was. They didn’t talk about the painful anniversary of yesterday, or whatever the thing between them was. They got out of bed (eventually) and go dressed. Belle put on a bright yellow tank top and cooked breakfast, and Rum sat at her counter and commandeered the stereo, telling her stories about the artists he played, some of them because he knew the artist personally.

“So, the purple album. Can we listen to it again?” He asked later, over a plate of crispy bacon, scrambled eggs and fresh pancakes. She groaned, and rubbed her forehead.

“I don’t know why you would even want to play that. It’s just amateur stuff, really.” She said, waving him off. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I have no idea why you would think that. And I don’t know why you put yourself down all the time. I know I was drunk last night but Jesus, Belle, you’re fantastic. You have a wonderful voice. You never hold back, never back down and sing with all the emotion you have in your heart. It’s wonderful, really.”

“You’re just saying that.” She replied, shaking her head. She tried to stop her hand from shaking as she took a forkful of scrambled eggs.

“Why would I be saying that? We already slept together, didn’t we?”

There was something so blunt in his voice when he said it, but before she could feel offended, he tittered slightly with a playfulness she hadn’t seen coming.  

“You are such an asshole.” She said, swatting him on the arm and shaking her head. He chuckled.

“I’m known to be.” He said. “But truly, why do you put yourself down so much? I’m not just saying these things for fun. I know talent when I hear it, and you have a great gift, sweetheart.”

She shrugged, and turned away to stop him from seeing that her lip was shaking.

“Belle?” He said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

She turned back to him, and as soon as she saw his worried face, the tears broke through. It wasn’t heavy crying, but it was crying all the same. He stood, and went to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and holding her through her sobs. The lump in her throat passed enough for her to talk.

“My husband…my ex-husband. He knew that I wanted to be a singer, and he put be down at every chance he got. He told me I would never amount to anything, never be anyone and that my dream was only wasting time and energy. It’s just so hard to hear these sort of things from someone and believe them, you know?”

She felt his hands clench, and he hugged her tighter to him, resting his chin on the top of her head and exhaling.

“Whoever he was, whatever he said it was wrong. It was so wrong. He was so wrong. No sane person could be that wrong about you, Belle.”

Those words prompted her to tears again, and he held her through them again, kissing her hair and whispering those glorious freeing words “He was wrong” over and over again.

~~~

That evening, Belle sat curled up with a book and a glass of wine in the living room. Rum had left after breakfast, and even now, she still felt emotionally drained with the talk of her ex husband. There were still some things she wasn’t telling Rum, but those things could wait. After all, who spilled everything right away? Besides, she wasn’t even sure if he wanted to hear it. They weren’t just friends anymore, but they weren’t just lovers either. Or at least, that was how she felt. They shared a kindred spirit: a love for music. She felt his darkness and wanted to ease his pain and find out much more about him. She knew his son’s death must be the reason why he seemed ad all the time, but there was an anger as well. He thought she didn’t see it, but sometimes when they had been together relaxing, when everything was less complicated, she had seen him lost I thought with his jaw so tight it looked that if he tightened it any more, his teeth would shatter.

There was so much left unsaid. So many secrets that she wanted to be able to say, but the pain kept them chained close to her. Ruby was the only one outside of Australia who knew the ins and outs of her relationship with Gaston, and part of her didn’t want that to change. She felt selfish for not wanting to say anything, but right now she didn’t want to risk anything in the tentative first steps of whatever relationship was forming with Rum and her.

A knock came at her door, and she crossed the hallway in her pink fuzzy slippers to answer it.

“Oh!” She exclaimed.

Rum was stood in front of her in a suit, his jacket hung over his arm and smiling up at her in the lopsided way he did so well. He stepped around her, and she blinked at him.

“Get dressed into something nice, sweetheart. I’m taking you out.” He said

“You are?” Was all she could say, still blinking over at him. He turned around and smirked slightly.

“Yes.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I want to.” He responded. “Now off you pop.”

She did as she was told, opening her wardrobe and looking through her extensive collection of clothes. She had a bit of a thing for shopping, but she bought everything on sale so she wasn’t bankrupt.

“Where are we going? Should I dress casually? No, no. You’re in a suit. Um, how should I dress?” She asked him, raising her voice so he could hear her, and bringing her hand up to her mouth to bite her middle nail nervously. Was this a date? How did she go on a date? She hadn’t been on a date in about six years. She had been with Gaston for that long that she had forgotten everything about dating. Not that she did a lot of it before him, anyway.

“A dress with a nice skirt.” He told her. “I’m not going to tell you where we’re going. It’s a surprise.”

“Does it involve food?” she asked.

The silence the followed made her giggle quietly to herself.

“We can stop on the way.” He said.

~~~

So stop they did. They ate burgers while sat on the bonnet of his car, with her trying her best not to get any on her dress. She had opted for a knee length royal blue A line dress, and the eyes Rum was making at her made her feel like it was a good decision. They ate up, threw away their rubbish and jumped into his car and onto the surprise. When they were almost there (she assumed) he got her to close her eyes. She felt him stop the car and get out of his side, but she kept her eyes closed with a huge smile on her lips. The anticipation was killing her, but she kept them closed. He went over to her side and helped her out, putting an arm around her waist and led her to their destination. He opened a set of doors and ushered her inside.

She heard chatter and classical music and she felt dizzy with how excited she was.

“Open your eyes.”

She did, and she gasped.

“Oh, you didn’t!” She cried, laughing and turning round to throw her arms around him.

There was a huge chandelier above them, and a long wooden staircase leading down to a dancefloor where couples were twirling around to the music of a full band of highly trained musicians. The bar was at the top where they were, and the ceiling to the lower floor was open so people around the top floor could see the couples below. They were at The Crystal Ballroom: a dance hall that she had only heard about. It was invite only: very exclusive, and apparently Rum was one of its members. She had wanted to go there ever since she had seen it featured in an article online about three years ago, so he would have had no idea how amazing it was for her to be there.

“I get the impression that you’re quite happy with this?” He asked.

In response, she grabbed his shoulders and kissed him hard on the lips. He grunted in surprise, but kissed her back.

“Enough of that. I’ll have to take you home before we even get to dance.” He warned.

 She laughed, and linked her arm with his, rushing them to coat check before he could take a breath, and then down the stairs to the dance floor. The couples were currently in a waltz, which they joined effortlessly.

“My, my. A dancer as well, are we?” he asked, twirling her around.

She laughed in response, going back to the steps with efficiency as he led her.

“I used to compete when I was younger, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yup. You’re looking at a competition winner, actually. I won a national award back in Australia.” She said with a grin.

“Well, now I just feel silly for bringing you here.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’m not as good as you, and you’re going to make me look like a prat. Next time I’m just going to have to bring a girl I know is bad at dancing.”

She stepped on his foot in response and he hissed slightly before laughing.

“I told you I was an asshole, sweetheart.”

“Yes, and I believe you even more now.” She said in response, rolling her eyes.

“I’m bad at jokes, what can I say?” he said, pulling her in close to him when the song changed to a slower one.

“Hopefully nothing.”

Their eyes met, both full of mirth, and she chuckled and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I have no interest in anyone else, anyway. I don’t want anyone else.” He said, quietly. She raised her head and looked into his eyes, her lips parted slightly in surprise. “It’s soon, I know. But I have treasured this time.”

It was soon. He knew that. She had known him for two weeks, everything was going so fast, and yet she undeniably felt the same, if not more. But the words of love clogged up in her throat before she could get to them.

“What is this, Rum?” She found herself asking instead. “What are we?”

The atmosphere around them was so intimate, so perfect: too perfect for this conversation. She wished she didn’t have to ask him this, but the way he held her in his arms, and the way the music played and everything about this was too perfect for her not to know for sure if he felt even mildly similar to how she felt for him. He twirled her again, and brought her back to his chest, lifting her chin to look up at him. His brown eyes were so, so beautiful that she felt she would melt under his gaze.

“We are Belle and Rum, in a dance hall, getting to know each other better.” He said, and she felt her heart drop a little in disappointment. “That is what I am inclined to say, anyway. I am not a brave man, Belle. But if I was a brave man, I would say that this is a date. This is a night I spent all day thinking about to impress you so that you would say you are mine. That I want so badly for you to be mine.”

His voice was low, husky, and so quiet she had to perk up her ears to hear him. And he seemed afraid of what? That she would say no? How could she when everything was so perfect and she felt the way she did.

“Rum, I don’t want anything else but this or anyone else but you. If you wanted to impress me, that’s fine, but you didn’t need to. I’m yours. I’ve been yours since we kissed for the first time and I will be yours until our last.”

He kissed her deeply then, his hands on her waist. Hers were shaking on his shoulders, and they swayed to the music under the soft lighting on what was a perfect evening.


End file.
